


three L words, two super sons, and a nightwing in a pine tree

by stick2theplan



Category: DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Damian knows everything, Dick is really just a nice guy, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Jon puts up with him being a know-it-all, Kara and Lena are oblivious, Thanksgiving, Winn Schott Jr. Ships It, it's not his fault, jealous!Kara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stick2theplan/pseuds/stick2theplan
Summary: Otherwise known as: Superboy overhears that Lena Luthor has nowhere to go on Thanksgiving and enlists help to fix that.(The SuperCorp-SuperSons crossover that I’m pretty sure no one asked for.)





	1. later on, we'll conspire

**Author's Note:**

> Look, Damian's such a brat, which is why I love the idea of him getting invested in this mission.  
> Btw, if you're not familiar with Super Sons, »TT« is a sound effect Damian makes to signify impatience, disapproval, etc.  
> Happy Thanksgiving!

When Winn Schott told Kara that, no, he wasn’t busy that Thursday night, the last possible outcome he could have anticipated was to find himself volunteered to babysit the ten year old son of Clark Kent and Lois Lane(-Kent). Kara had waited until after he’d agreed to reveal that he’d also be watching Bruce Wayne’s thirteen year old, because apparently finding a real, qualified sitter was not in anyone’s wheelhouse. But, willing or not, Winn had no intention of finding out what two of the most powerful men, like, _ever_ would do if he failed at taking care of their sons. 

Which was why he had the search results of “healthy meal for adolescent boys” spread out on Kara’s counter when the pair were dropped off by a there-and-gone Supergirl. 

“Hi, Winn,” Jonathan Kent greeted politely, making a beeline for the chicken nuggets. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Damian Wayne huffed, striding briskly into the apartment and choosing to sit on the arm of the sofa. 

“Aren’t you eating, Damian?” Jon asked through a mouthful of green beans. 

»TT«

“Whatever. More for me, then.”

Winn blinked at them. He eased the door closed and watched as Damian rolled his eyes, walked to the table, and snatched the plate of nuggets out of Jon’s hand. Jon, meanwhile, didn’t bat an eyelash at his behavior. 

“So, we’re bringing you in on a mission,” Jon said matter-of-factly after swallowing a large bite of cornbread. Damian made another tsking sound, and Jon responded, “Come on. This will be so much easier with his help.” 

“What sort of mission?” Winn asked, taking a seat at the head of the table. “Because the whole reason I’m watching you two is so you don’t get into any trouble.”

“As if you could actually stop us if we weren’t willing to be here.”

Jon ignored Damian’s sass and explained, “We want everyone to be together for the holidays.” 

“Aren’t the Danvers and I already doing Thanksgiving at your house?” 

“Yeah, but—”

Damian interrupted, “What happened here is that our youngest resident bleeding heart Kryptonian found out that Lex Luthor’s less evil sister has nowhere to spend Cultural Appropriation Day and that that makes Human Puppy Dog Danvers sad, so he wants to fix it, as that’s what families do, apparently.” 

“Apparently?”

“My mother frequently considers having me assassinated. Functional families aren’t my expertise.” 

Winn nodded. “I feel you, there.” 

A frown settled across Jon’s face, and he said, “I know Miss Luthor wouldn’t be my parents’ first choice to invite…”

That was an understatement. The reporters who helped put Lex Luthor in jail—one of whom doubled as his arch nemesis—welcoming his sister into their home for the most family-oriented holiday of the year. Along with the fact that said nemesis’s cousin was the aforementioned sister’s best friend. Basically, a Danvers-Kent-Luthor-Schott holiday extravaganza had the potential to be more awkward than all Winn’s past Thanksgivings combined. 

“…but no one should be alone on Thanksgiving.” 

“Yeah,” Winn agreed, “that’s why I always celebrate with Kara.” 

Jon grinned widely in approval then glanced down at his buzzing cellphone. His eyebrows shot up, and he announced, “My dad just texted that Thanksgiving has been relocated to Wayne Manor.” 

“No. Way.” Winn cried. “That is…that is so totally awesome.”

“Father must have proposed it,” Damian noted blandly. “He did mention a desire to be kept abreast of the situation.” 

Winn snickered at the turn of phrase and discovered how it felt to receive twin looks of chastisement from children. 

“Wait, are you saying your dad’s in on our plan?” Jon inferred.

“Yes. He is recently engaged, and it has made him horribly sentimental lately.” 

Jon was immediately preoccupied with how that new information affected their “mission.” “This changes everything!” he declared. “We don’t have to convince my parents to invite Miss Luthor anymore, so we can forget all that stuff. And, since we know Mr. Wayne is okay with it, Winn can call to invite her tonight. Easy.”

“Wait, I can do what now?” 

A text from Kara about the change of venue for Thanksgiving momentarily distracted Winn. He replied that the pint-sized demons—or, more accurately, one bat-demon and one boy scout—had already told him, and she immediately asked if they were giving him a hard time. Once he’d reassured her that her apartment was still standing and her little cousin still safely inside it, he questioned why he had to babysit if she was apparently idle enough to text. 

Of course, that was conveniently when she got too busy to respond. 

 

“You’re sure you know what to say?” Jon triple-checked as Winn put the phone to his ear. Before the computer whiz could say that, no, he had already forgotten, the line clicked to life. 

“LCorp, Lena Luthor speaking.” 

She sounded harried. 

“Hey, Lena,” Winn greeted, attempting levity. “It’s Winn…Schott. Winn Schott.” 

“Oh! Hello, Winn.” 

There was a rushed exhale and breathlessness to her tone that made him ask, “Is this a bad time? Sorry, I—”

“No, no,” Lena interrupted. “Not at all. I was about to leave the office when the phone rang. Just give me a moment to take off my coat.” 

“You’re seriously still at work?” 

The clock on the mantle read 8:37 PM. A reliable source—Kara, of course—had mentioned that Lena usually arrived by seven every morning. No matter how much Winn loved his job, he couldn’t imagine regularly working 13 hour days. Wow. The woman was a powerhouse. 

“You sound surprised,” Lena observed over some rustling on her end. “You did call my office. Were you not expecting to reach me here?” 

Fair point. 

A quiet thump sounded as an impatient-looking Damian hopped down from his perch on the windowsill. The baby ninja seemed chronically unable to sit properly on any furniture actually designed for sitting. Jon, meanwhile, peered eagerly at Winn from an armchair, probably using his superhearing to listen to both sides of the conversation. 

“You know, I’m doing some research that you’d be interested in,” Lena began. 

“Wait, okay, I definitely want to hear about that, but I did call for a reason.” 

“Oh dear, this sounds serious,” she joked. 

“I—we…Kara and I, we want to, to invite you to Thanksgiving,” Winn announced. “Our Thanksgiving, if that wasn’t—You should come!”

There was a moment of silence, and then, “That’s very sweet, Winn, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

“You wouldn’t be!” he quickly denied. “You’d be…you’d be saving us, actually. Somehow, Bruce Wayne is hosting, which means it’s probably gonna be really formal, and Kara and I are guaranteed to embarrass ourselves if you aren’t there to guide us with your grace.” 

“I’m sorry, did you say Bruce Wayne? How on Earth…?” 

“Turns out the Waynes and the Kents are…” He glanced at the two boys elbowing each other, since Damian had made the arm of Jon’s chair his new perch. “…family friends.” 

Lena hummed. “The Kents. Of course. Winn, again, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and I realize Kara was bothered by my lack of holiday plans, but I assure you I do not need to be coddled.” 

Jon bore a very Kara-esque sad puppy pout, obviously thinking the mission had failed, but Winn knew exactly how to respond, because, “Hey, I get it; what it’s like to find out your family is actually awful but still feel…sad, I guess, that you don’t have anyone to do family stuff with anymore, even if the idea of, of celebrating _anything_ with them makes you sick. 

“And then feeling like most people either pity you or are suspicious you’ll turn out just as evil…I promise this isn’t a pity invite. Kara and I want you there. I know the idea of spending this holiday with someone else’s family and traditions is probably terrifying. Because you’re afraid of comparing it to how things were, afraid of feeling nostalgic and then hating yourself for having any positive memories of someone who’s done such unspeakable things.

“Missing not being alone doesn’t make you a bad person, Lena. Neither does mourning the loss of the good parts of even the worst relationships. I’m telling you this, even though I know it’s not going to stick the first time, because hearing it is step one. I can’t make you do something you don’t want to do, but, just so you know, this is what helped me accept that. Thanksgiving’s about being grateful and spending time with people you care about, and that doesn’t have to mean family. I hope you consider me a friend—”

“Certainly,” Lena insisted. 

“So there’s us, Alex, Kara, the Kents, and the Waynes. A bunch of friends eating turkey and carbs together because we all have off work next Thursday. Oh, and Alex is bringing her mom because she’s a dork. As Kara’s best friend, I can’t promise there won’t be awkwardness. I mean, it’s Kara, but…”

Seemingly despite herself, Lena chuckled. “You think you’re her best friend, hm?”

Winn smirked. “We can debate which of us is her _best_ best friend later. Let’s agree to disqualify Alex, though. Unfair advantage.” Sensing Lena’s lingering hesitance, he prodded, “Come on, it’s Orphan Friendsgiving.” 

“Very well,” she relented quietly, “I suppose you’ve persuaded me.” 

Winn cheered, and Jon pumped his fist in silent celebration. With their objective accomplished, the boys quickly changed focus to their more heroic, caped escapades. Winn switched to asking Lena about her latest project, moving to the kitchen island so _Superboy and Robin_ didn’t have to worry about being overheard. He kept a close eye on them, though. Which was why he noticed instantly when Damian pulled out and started fiddling with a sinisterly sharp…bat-shaped…

“What are you—put that down!” he yelped, cutting Lena off mid sentence. “Sorry,” he told her hastily, “I’m, uh, babysitting.”

Her raised eyebrow was nearly audible, but she noted that it sounded like he needed to go. He agreed while glaring at Damian until the weapon was set down on the coffee table with an eye roll. Just before hanging up, Lena said, “And thank you, Winn, for being persistent about Thanksgiving. I wasn’t really looking forward to being alone.” 

That, Winn realized, was what defined the goodness of heroes like Jon and Kara. Not dramatic displays of strength but noticing people in need, especially those who might otherwise be overlooked, and feeling a completely unselfish desire to help. And then doing it. Being a part of that felt good. 

With his phone in his pocket, he studied the item on the coffee table; considered picking it up, then discarded that idea. It looked really sharp. 

“You probably shouldn’t touch it,” Damian confirmed. 

“Why did you have it _in your pocket_?!”

“We may be stuck here tonight, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use the time productively,” he reasoned. 

Winn blinked. “What is productive about a throwing star in a small, open-plan apartment?”

“Batarang,” Jon specified.

“Shuriken,” corrected Damian. 

“Whatever it is, how ‘bout you strategize in less deadly ways while you’re under my supervision?” 

»TT« “Shurikenjutsu is child’s play. You clearly know very little about what is actually life-threatening.”

And Winn had thought keeping Cat Grant’s son alive was hard…

Why had he let himself be talked into this again?

* * *

 

Thanksgiving was surprising in exactly none of the ways Winn had expected. 

He knew his best friend, could read her like a book—not counting that time he’d willfully misread her feelings and kissed her, obviously. Or, at least, he’d thought he could. So the way Kara’s face contorted into a scowl as Dick Grayson warmly welcomed Lena to Wayne Manor didn’t make sense at first. 

“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Miss Luthor,” the handsome, young ward was saying as he clasped Lena’s hand between both of his and grinned. “You know, the photos don’t do you justice. Nothing against our pal Jimmy, of course, but some things just can’t be reduced to two dimensions.” 

Lena blushed and, if looks could kill—okay, technically Kara’s looks _could_ kill, but in this case she kept her death glare metaphorical, and the side of Dick’s head remained burn-free.

Nudging Kara, Winn whispered, “Hey, what’s your problem with Dick? You’re looking at him like he punches babies. He seems like a really nice guy.” 

“He is,” she agreed quickly. “Everybody likes him.” 

“Except you?”

“Including me.” She adopted an almost completely authentic smile as she moved toward her cousin. “And it’s great he’s being so nice to Lena. Really…great.” 

They’d barely made it inside the front door before the boys proposed a snowball war—apparently, snowball _fights_ were too pedestrian for Damian—and Alfred, the butler, immediately began to retrieve snowsuits and boots of all sizes. The Kents, Waynes, and Danvers sisters divided automatically into family units. 

“You can be on our team, Miss Luthor,” Jon invited enthusiastically, leaning against his mother as he wiggled into a blue suit. “Damian, you guys can take Winn.” 

“Please, call me Lena,” the woman insisted with a smile. 

“What if we want her?” Dick challenged, donning the same black snowsuit as Bruce and Damian. “Nothing personal, Winn. Just wondering why Jonno gets to choose.” 

“It’s fine. Hand eye coordination…” Winn mimed throwing. Poorly. “Not my thing.” 

“Hey!” Kara objected from within her borrowed turtleneck, pushing her head the rest of the way through to issue an annoyed pout. “Lena’s _my_ best friend. She belongs on _our_ team.” 

Alex snorted, “Not to mention there’s only two of us and three of you both as it is. Those numbers would not have been fair.” 

Lena looked bewildered to be in such high demand, but she silently accepted the winter gear from Alfred. As the boys laid out the rules, she reached over to help a struggling Kara zip up the back of her snowsuit. Smiling, she circled around and adjusted the blonde’s scarf to cover her nose. Even with Kara’s mouth hidden behind gray fleece, her returning smile was obvious. The whole exchange was oddly domestic. 

Then Dick held out a hand to help Lena down the back steps and Kara twitched. 

Wait, was Kara worried that he might steal Lena’s friendship from her or something?

The backyard was predictably enormous and blanketed in fresh snow, and the stone patio featured a fire pit, which Winn, Eliza Danvers and Selina Kyle sat around with hot cider to watch the spectacle. 

“We need team names!” Jon insisted, quickly claiming his father’s hometown. 

“Goliath,” Damian decided unilaterally, and Bruce’s grimace suggested it had nothing to do with the fable. 

“Youngest gets to pick,” Kara asserted emphatically, even though neither Alex nor Lena had shown any interest in taking the opportunity from her. 

Lena raised an eyebrow and noted dryly, “Lovely of you to call attention to our ages,” and Kara looked appropriately contrite but still proposed DCorp as their team name. It wasn’t the _worst_. Probably.

The teams were given ten minutes to prepare, with Selina keeping time. Alex jumped right into building a wall for her team, which was closest to the fire pit, but hesitated as Kara pulled down her scarf to speak to Lena. The response contained the words “structurally sound,” and “reserves,” and Alex switched to following Lena’s lead while Kara discretely began preparing ammunition. 

Team Smallville, far and to the left, was chugging away at their own fortress. As honorable men must, Jon and Clark appeared not to be using their powers (yet). But, from the determination on Lois’s face as she rolled snowballs, Winn guessed _she_ might not be above using any advantage they had. 

By the time Winn looked to the right, all three members of Team Goliath were hidden behind a wall of snow. Seriously, how was that even possible? They were the only team without any superpowers. 

“Time’s up!” Selina shouted. 

Snowballs started flying instantly, and Winn and Eliza pretended to be impartial while Selina shamelessly, if a bit mockingly, cheered on “her boys.” Team Goliath worked silently, appearing and disappearing behind their barricade in quick, black streaks. But Team Smallville proved almost shockingly more organized as a square-shouldered Lois barked commands like, “On my mark,” and, “FALL IN!” (The latter whenever Jon leaned too far over the top of their fort).

“Oo-kay,” Winn commented. 

“I always forget she was an army brat,” said Eliza. 

A few minutes in, Damian seemed to hover in sight for an extra beat after throwing. Seconds later, Lois called, “Right, FACE,” and the look on Alex’s as snowballs sailed toward Team DCorp from both sides was priceless. While her sister complained about being ganged up on, Kara used a subtle burst of speed to save Lena from a snowball to the face. The pair ducked for cover, sitting back against the inner wall of their fort, dissolving into giggles and being entirely unhelpful to Alex, who valiantly fought on. 

“They’re kind of adorable,” observed Selina. 

“Yes,” Eliza agreed, “Kara’s always gotten along better with boys. It’s nice she’s found a female friend.” 

As soon as Mrs. Danvers turned, Selina gave Winn a look as if they shared a secret that Kara’s adoptive mom wasn’t in on. And Winn shrugged and smirked as if he understood exactly what she meant, even though he was pretty sure he wasn’t in on it either. 

Until Clark pulled Lois out of the line of fire. Like Kara had done. For Lena. 

Huh.

Maybe he did get it. 

Because Kara wasn’t saving her other teammate from face-fulls of snow, and Lena’s smile was yellow-sun-bright, and maybe what Kara and Lena had wasn’t the perfect gal pal friendship they all believed it to be. 

Kara, still taking cover, started blindly throwing snowballs over her shoulder while Lena gripped the blonde’s sleeve and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

“Kara!” yelped Alex. “That’s literally the opposite of helpful!”

Winn doubted any of them had ever seen Lena laugh so hard.  

He only realized the snowball war was finished when they all started trooping in toward the house as Lois announced, “Team Smallville clearly won.” Behind her, both the Smallville and Goliath forts had been decimated. When did that happen? 

“How do you _possibly_ figure that, Lois?” Bruce asked incredulously. 

Meanwhile, Kara yanked off her gloves, fished out her phone, and hauled Lena against her side to take a silly selfie. Lena pulled a face without hesitation, and _oh, my god, they must do that a lot._  

“That gets posted nowhere, Miss Danvers,” reminded Lena faux sternly. 

“Aw, gee, Lena, I was thinking of making it my profile picture.” 

Lena stopped short, bringing Kara to a halt as well. “Is that so?” she asked before tugging Kara’s scarf down and shoving a handful of snow in her face. 

“Joke’s on you,” Kara spluttered. “It was getting hot under that scarf.” 

“Careful, Kara, or I might decide to leave you stuck in that marshmallow suit,” Lena replied as she strode inside. Kara scrambled obediently after. 

 

They all reconvened in the living room, the haggard snow soldiers trickling in gradually once they’d removed their outerwear. Winn noticed Lena left a space between herself and the arm of the couch and that Kara didn’t have to ask to know it was meant for her. Conversation shifted to whether or not newspapers were really a dying medium, causing Lois to grimace as she sank into a seat near the fireplace. 

“They’re unnecessary,” argued Dick. “In the digital age, everyone gets their news from Twitter.” 

Lena scoffed, “Do you need a hundred forty characters on why that’s detrimental to society, or would you prefer it in the form of a WWE gif meme about our political climate?” 

“I like this one,” Lois chirped. “You can stay, Luthor.” 

“Cocoa for the weary warriors,” Alfred announced, a tray of steaming mugs in his hands. 

“Alfred, you missed the whole snowball fight!” Jon bemoaned. 

“I’m surely devastated, Master Kent.”

»TT«

Kara pushed herself up, asking if Lena wanted some hot chocolate, too. 

“I’ve got it,” Dick said, passing both women maroon mugs. 

“Of course you do,” Kara grumbled into her whipped cream. 

Lena smiled, “Thank you, Mr. Grayson.” 

“Oh,” Winn realized quietly, forgetting who was next to him, “she has a crush on Lena.” 

Jon’s eyes went wide. 

_Oops_. “I mean—”

“Kara has a crush on Miss Luthor?!”

“Um, no?” Winn tried. 

Simultaneously, Damian scoffed, “Obviously.” 

So much for keeping Kara’s secrets. Jon promised not to tell anyone, though. Damian just made that tsking sound as if to point out that he didn’t care enough to spread gossip. 

Damian was right, though. After Winn’s epiphany, it became painfully obvious that Kara and Lena were more than friends. 

In the way Kara beamed when her family was friendly to Lena, and the way she sometimes fiddled with her glasses when she spoke to the brunette directly. 

In the way Lena stopped Kara from pouring a fourth glass of wine at dinner with a hand on her forearm and whispered, “Maybe you should slow down,” without sounding controlling. 

(Also in the fact that Kara drank wine at all, because that had to be Lena’s influence.)

What wasn’t clear was whether they knew they were more than friends. 

When they went around the table saying what they were thankful for, both women used the word “friends” like they were trying to convince themselves, and Lena had this well-concealed longing in her eyes, and Winn made a mental note to research “how to stage an intervention” once he got home. 

 

Damian and Jon stopped him in the hallway while everyone else headed for the dessert buffet. 

“New mission assignment,” Damian informed him. 

“Does it count as an assignment if you’re assigning it to yourself?” 

Jon beamed. “It’s from my mom, actually.” 

Winn’s eyebrows shot up. “Your mom?”

“She wants us to make Kara and Miss Luthor realize they’re in love with each other. By Christmas.”

There was a long moment of silence. 

“Start the countdown and queue up every Christmas movie on Netflix, boys. We’ve got work to do.”


	2. So, I’m Offering This Simple Phrase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas matchmaking mission happens like this:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super rushed, because I totally procrastinated. But I’m posting it on time, so! Anyway, don’t hate me for all the errors that might’ve slipped through.

23 days to Christmas:

As it turned out, when Damian texted, “conference call,” he seriously meant for them to have a formal conference call. With screen-sharing and everything.

“Do we need to, like, verify that they like each other?” Jon asked thoughtfully.

Damian, who had been tapping away on a tablet that he’d seemingly pulled out of nowhere, smirked into his webcam. “They do. I’d hardly have let you enlist me in a futile mission, Jon.”

Jon rolled his eyes laboriously.

With a flourish, Damian pulled up an infographic full of statistics. The title helpfully stated, “Danvers-Luthor Social Interactions.” A chart indicating their most frequently used emojis caught Winn’s eye. At the top were the smirking face and the blushing smile. Typical.

“The average number of messages they exchange per day followed a positive linear trend from the point of their first meeting,” Damian lectured, “to an event which I’ve cross-correlated with high confidence to be Luthor’s betrayal of her mother. After which their daily interaction experienced exponential growth for several months and is only recently beginning to plateau. Not to mention their Snap streak is obscenely long.”

“Okay, one: that’s super creepy. Two: it also might be the coolest thing I’ve seen since my best friend told me she can fly. What are the chances your dad will let me look at his tech?”

“Minimal.”

Winn sighed morosely.

“You didn’t think to show me this before?” Jon complained.

“It wasn’t relevant to the previous objective of the mission.”

“Anything else you wanna share?”

“Not presently.”

Essentially, Damian was just as forthcoming as usual. Being a brat shouldn’t have been quite so endearing.

* * *

 

22 days to Christmas:

About three rings in, it occurred to Winn that he’d never had a direct or private conversation with Lois Lane-Kent before, and that was almost intimidating enough to make him hang up. Except he’d had this terrible thought and he needed to…

“Hello?”

“What if this is a terrible idea?” he blurted out.

“Winn? I’m gonna need some context. And maybe a, “Hi, Lois, how are you?” next time?”

“Hi, Lois. How are you?” he repeated obediently.

What had Winn on edge was that dating Lena would eventually lead to _telling_ Lena, and it wasn’t just Kara’s secret and safety at stake anymore. Even if she wasn’t explicitly told, Lena was far too smart not to deduce certain other secret identities from what she knew about Kara.

Jonathan was only ten, but, if the truth about him got out, there would be scientists and politicians debating whether to dissect him or lock him up. And Damian might act superior, but he didn’t have superpowers. The Batman had made enemies of Gotham’s most despicable and depraved; criminals like the Joker wouldn’t hesitate to torture his kid to get to him. A thirteen year old—ninja prodigy or not—wouldn’t stand a chance against every supervillain in the above-ground hellscape that was Gotham City.

When Winn finished saying as much to Lois, she was quiet for a few seconds.

“Look,” she said finally, “I’m not gonna pretend worrying about that doesn’t keep me up at night. But exposure is a risk that’s indelibly tied to who we are, even if the entire Justice League hung up their cowls and their capes tomorrow and lived the rest of their lives as regular civilians. We can’t make the world forget its heroes or erase all traces of them from history—believe me, you could go back to the very beginning of time and try. It doesn’t work. And I really don’t think anyone wants to go through that again, so…

“The point is, we’ve got to learn to live with the risks we can’t control, and we’ve got to do our best to make the right choices about the ones we can. Isn’t Lena your friend? Do you trust her?”

“Well, yeah,” Winn confirmed, “she is. And I do. But…”

Lois hm’ed patiently.

“But why do you?”

“My father,” she enunciated with obvious distaste, “is a powerful xenophobe who believes the end justifies the means in all cases, without exception. He’s everything Clark and I oppose, but no one in our circle has ever questioned my loyalty because I share blood with General Sam Lane. I owe Lena Luthor that same consideration.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, do you actually think Bruce would’ve allowed this if he hadn’t fully assessed all possible risk?”

* * *

 

19 days to Christmas:

In retrospect, Kara had always been very obvious.

Moments like this: the faint chorus of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” piping through a small set of speakers while they watched footage of a malevolent “metahuman” in a Santa hat…yeah, that would take a lot more getting used to.

But, Alex’s subsequent briefing being interrupted by Kara’s cellphone? That didn’t even garner mild surprise anymore. Neither did the fact that Kara was already retrieving the phone from her boot as her sister commanded, “Don’t answer it.”

“It’s Lena,” was an unnecessary clarification, because Lena was the only person whose calls still came through when Kara’s phone was on Do Not Disturb.

How had he ever believed they were just friends?

“Luthor can wait.”

“It could be an emergency.”

“ _This_ is an emergency!” Alex insisted, but Kara had already disappeared down the hall. The brunette pinched the bridge of her nose. “For the love of—who would even call Kara Danvers in an emergency and not, like, 911?”

Winn decided this wasn’t the right moment to point out that Kara Danvers was probably exactly who Lena would call for a last goodbye. Maybe Kara realized that, too, because she really seemed to hate missing Lena’s calls. Even more than Alex hated being interrupted by them.

“Hey, Alex,” he said hesitantly. “So, hypothetical question, because, you know, I don’t have one, but sisters are supposed to always support each other, right?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “What did she do?”

“Nothing! She didn’t—I meant more like…emotional support.”

She frowned and glanced toward the corner Kara had vanished around, then looked back at Winn with an air of reluctance. “Does this have anything to do with Lena Luthor being at Thanksgiving?”

“No! What? No…”

“Because it’s obvious Kara has some kind of crush on her.”

Winn crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look authoritative and feeling completely ridiculous doing so. “Would that matter?”

It wouldn’t, she conceded with a special sort of resignation. What worried her was all the ways Kara could be burned by a relationship—platonic or otherwise—with a Luthor. For the first time in a while, Winn could clearly see the woman who’d devoted her entire adult life to keeping her little sister safe.

And Lena Luthor wasn’t safe. Winn knew that. No one was really; not when something like a truth serum was a real possibility in this world. Not when holding even the tiniest piece of Kara’s heart put a person in danger. And Lena had a whole lot more than a tiny piece.

But Kara returned then, and the conversation had to be tabled.

“Luthor’s not in mortal danger?” snarked Alex.

Kara shrugged unapologetically. “She just called to talk.”

Honestly.

* * *

 

8 days to Christmas: 

The bartender wouldn’t sell Winn alien alcohol, no matter how much he insisted he had no intention of drinking it himself. Something about fragile humans and not being held responsible.

To be fair, a scheme that could kill any human who inadvertently drank the wrong eggnog was likely not the most brilliant.

* * *

 

30 hours to Christmas:

“Winn,” Kara whispered down the line.

Oh, god, she was sniffling.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is someone hurt?” As far as he knew, there were no ongoing threats at the moment.

“N-no, nothing like that. It’s…Lena isn’t coming to Christmas.”

He should’ve been relieved that it was this and not something truly critical, but his stomach only tightened more. They had been doing so well. What happened?

“Are you home?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right over.”

When he arrived, he learned that the L-Corp representative who was supposed to attend some meeting in Hong Kong had apparently backed out last minute. Since Lena was too nice to make an employee cancel their holiday plans, she would have to go herself. Her flight was scheduled to board in less than 24 hours.

Kara sniffed again. “She said she can’t ask someone to leave their family on Christmas. She said, “They have people they should be with,” but…”

“But what about you—uh, us?” Winn guessed. “Shouldn’t she be with us?”

She nodded, and he allowed himself a small moment to mourn what would never be. Because, from the pain etched into Kara’s steel features, Lena was it for her, even if she hadn’t realized yet. That was okay, though; he and Kara weren’t meant for each other. Not the way she and Lena—two powerful, but isolated, orphans—were.

Oh.

Kara and Lena were _meant for each other._

The relief finally came. He’d gotten so wrapped up in the mission that he’d forgotten they weren’t living in a holiday movie. Lois Lane-Kent, queen of competitiveness, might be disappointed if they didn’t manage the Christmas deadline, but there would be no real repercussions. They would all still be standing on December 26th. Kara's heart wasn’t going to turn to stone, and Lena wasn’t suddenly going to become an amnesiac. This relationship would work itself out eventually.

“You know she’s right,” he said, patting her shoulder and reaching for the aux cable. “It sucks, but it’s the right thing to do. So. We’re going to listen to some relevant Christmas music.”

He played “Let It Snow” and “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” and “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home),” and Kara laughed sadly, but it wasn’t until “Snow In California” that she perked up.

“Winn!” she exclaimed, bouncing eagerly. “Winn, she’s not _in_ California! She’s already in Gotham for a meeting!”

And it was supposed to snow in New Jersey. A lot. Given that Wayne Enterprises was powerful enough to pull all the corporate strings in Gotham City, Winn wondered if there was maybe more to that meeting than fortunate coincidence.

How on (Prime) Earth did Batman have everyone convinced that he was just a brooding, misanthropic loner?

* * *

 

12 hours to Christmas:

Wayne Manor looked like the set of a Brooks Brothers Christmas photoshoot. 

Selina, who’d opened the door, smirked at Winn’s awestruck expression. “Damian insisted,” she explained, ushering him inside. “Something about how, if we were going to make him celebrate a historically pagan bacchanalia, reappropriated to honor the savior of a religious group he doesn’t even belong to, then we should do it right.”

When Damian had said he’d take care of decorating, the cynical part of Winn had sort of expected a couple sprigs of mistletoe scotch-taped above a few key doorways. The boy was nothing if not methodical and utilitarian.

This was…not that.

The decorations looked extravagant but not overwhelming—nowhere near the tackiness of cheap LEDs or too much tinsel that Winn always had struggled to avoid. Just standing in the mansion made him feel like the Christmas spirit was seeping into his bones.

Having been raised in a region without seasons, Winn was plenty familiar with fake snow, but he’d never seen it as magical or realistic as on the branches of the Waynes’ Christmas tree. Tinsel twinkled and gleamed in warm tones, accentuated by dispersed candlelight. Had the furniture and curtains always been that deep shade of crimson? Must’ve. They wouldn’t have gone so far as to reupholster for the holiday. Probably.

On the mantle hung stockings for all of them, and Winn felt a relieved sense of belonging settle in his chest at seeing his own name up there. Stockings hadn’t been part of their scheming, but the addition was a stroke of genius. Either Damian was treating this with the same intensity as a real mission out of habit, or he actually cared.

Weird.

* * *

 

11 hours to Christmas: 

The mistletoe, however elegantly hung, seemed determined to fail them. It was honestly kind of terrifying that, the first time Winn saw Damian express an emotion besides impatience, it was fury. At him. For inadvertently ending up under an adorned doorway while mid-conversation with Lena.

Winn had been too distracted by relief over Lena’s flight being cancelled to remember the peril, and Lena had been too eager to talk to someone who actually understood her scientific work to notice anything around her. Including the look of pure betrayal on Kara’s face as Selina coughed, “Look up, nerds.”

Lena rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and Winn gave an apologetic shrug and pecked her on the cheek as quickly and casually as possible. Kara’s glare instantly dissipated, but Damian’s didn’t. If the mission failed that night, Winn would be sleeping with one eye open.

Later, Jon found himself caught between Kara and Lena under the mistletoe. It was hard to believe anyone could look so disappointed to receive simultaneous cheek kisses from those two women. As he was walking to the bathroom, Winn caught sight of Damian ripping down one of the sprigs and hurling it through an open doorway into the kitchen.

* * *

 

9 hours to Christmas: 

At Jon’s insistence, they all gathered round to read Christmas stories. Kara blushed and fiddled with her glasses as if preparing for her Broadway debut, not a semi-dramatic reading of **_The Polar Express_** in the Waynes’ living room.

Lena, only slightly reluctant, read for the narrator of **_A Christmas Carol_** with her Tiny Tim, a beaming Jon, sitting in her lap to share the book.

Kara gave a standing ovation.

While Jon and Damian bundled up to play outside, Lena stood off to the side with her and blushed at Kara’s playful, complimentary teasing. They weren’t standing very close or murmuring in low voices, like they sometimes did when there were fewer people around, but there was no questioning the slight angle of their shoulders towards each other or the gentle smile that Lena reserved for Kara.

* * *

 

8 hours to Christmas: 

Dancing was one of those staple romantic situations that was really hard to instigate artificially.

Clark, for example, as a married man and established sentimentalist, had the freedom to spontaneously ask his wife to dance without fear of rejection or ridicule. Something about the fondness cushioning Bruce’s eyeroll perfectly captured how it felt to be in the same room as Mr. and Mrs. Kent.

Then there were the Dick Graysons of the world, who had the enviable confidence and charisma to put themselves out there. Thankfully, he respected Kara’s murderous glare and turned his winning smile quickly from Lena to Selina to ask, “How ‘bout a mother-son dance?” Sure, inviting your future-stepmother to dance was much less intimidating than a near stranger, but he’d had the guts and intent, nonetheless.

But Kara wasn’t Dick or Clark. And, as confident as Lena could be in a corporate setting, she was still socially awkward enough to have developed a lip-bitting habit. Which was almost worse than Kara’s habit of fiddling with her glasses.  
Basically, they were hopeless wallflowers without a way to bridge the gap.

Until Taylor Swift.

_“my reputation’s never been worse, so you must like me for me.”_

“This song…that lyric reminds me of you,” Lena admitted quietly, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Of when we first met.”

Bingo.

“Oh,” Kara breathed, “yeah, I do like you for…do you want to…?”

“Certainly.”

Winn didn’t have X-ray vision, but he was pretty sure Lois was grinning wildly into Clark’s shoulder.

* * *

 

6 hours to Christmas:

As they walked toward the dining room, Damian referred to Lena as Kara’s girlfriend. Kara stuttered to correct, for everyone in earshot—so Winn, the boys, and Clark, who had already turned the corner—that they weren’t dating.

“Why not?” Jon asked, the picture of innocence.

Kara blinked mechanically. “Why not?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Because! Because…Lena doesn’t like women that way.”

“Yes, and…” Lena stopped mid-nod and frowned. “Well, no, _that’s_ not strictly accurate.” She bit her lip, and her eyebrows scrunched briefly. “Kara is my best friend, not—”

Jon grinned gleefully. “My mom and dad are best friends.”

“What your parents have is special,” Lena said slowly.

»TT« Damian interjected mutedly. Winn elbowed him lightly.

“Not all friendships are meant to be more. Sometimes, there’s no, um…attraction. Or long-term aspirations—having children, for instance—are at odds,” she said, as they rounded the corner. “And, sometimes—trying to turn a platonic relationship into a romantic one can strain or ruin it. Sometimes, a friendship is too valuable to gamble.”

Kara nodded, moving to pull out a chair. “She said words I agree with…”

“You don’t actually believe that?!” Lois exclaimed, plunking down the water pitcher she’d been carrying in. “Sure, if one person dreams of a manageable mortgage and the other of world domination…yeah, it’s probably not gonna work out. But, if you’ve got all the ingredients to make apple pie, why the hell would you settle for half a bushel of apples and some frozen pie crust?”

Alfred grimaced as he came through the door from the kitchen hefting the Christmas ham. “Frozen? Humph. Some of us have more integrity than to consider that an _ingredient_ , Mrs. Kent.”

“Be gentle with Lois, Alfred,” chuckled Clark, who had the mashed potatoes in one hand and green beans in the other. “She’s barely domesticated.”

As tangents continued to develop and the table filled with food, Kara stood, frozen, by her chair with Lena at her elbow. She seemed unsure if the moment of chastisement had passed. From the look of concentration on her face, she was struggling to craft a response to a topic that everyone else had already move on from.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” Bruce asked, masking mild humor.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Kara squeaked, instinctively pulling out Lena’s chair for her.

Even Lena seemed to notice the significance of that gesture.

* * *

 

4 hours to Christmas:

“I wonder what’s taking Kara and Lena so long,” wondered Clark as he stood and headed for the door to the kitchen.

Once he mentioned it, Winn realized it _had_ been a while since the pair generously offered to retrieve dessert after dinner.

“Maybe they need help,” Jon guessed, scampering after his father, with Damian at his heels.

“Actually,” said a wide-eyed Clark, stepping back from the partially open door, “I think we should be a little more patient.” He lifted both boys by their collars and turned them around.

Winn peered around his inhumanly broad shoulders to see that Kara had Lena pinned up against Bruce Wayne’s undoubtedly expensive stainless steel refrigerator. Just before Clark eased the door closed, he noticed a sprig of mistletoe balancing precariously over the edge of the top of the appliance.


End file.
